


What's in a name?

by ChocoNut



Series: Modern JB love [34]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25768855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: Sansa, Margaery, Tyrion and Bronn, much to Brienne's amusement and Jaime's boredom, begin to discuss what last names they would like their future spouses to have. It is fun until the passive observers become the target of the game.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Modern JB love [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557871
Comments: 16
Kudos: 90





	What's in a name?

**Author's Note:**

> Pointlessly silly bit of fluff that stuck to me like an itch that wouldn't go away until I wrote it.  
> Thank you for reading!

“I’d love to be known as Sansa Smith,” she grandly declared. “Fits perfectly.”

A passive observer to this silly conversation her friends had sprung up out of the blue, Brienne sat back with a smile, waiting for Sansa’s fiancé to bounce back in retaliation.

“ _Smith?_ ” Tyrion made a face, just as she had predicted. “Sounds so meh. Like some random John with a boring last name—someone whose parents couldn’t come up with a creative first name either.”

“Hey, the last name’s Snow,” Jon shouted from the kitchen in a peeved tone. “And it’s fantastic, uncommon and anything but random, making heads turn wherever I go. Also, it’s _Jon_ , not _John_. So my mum and dad were pretty innovative, you see.”

“How did you make out from my pronunciation whether I meant _John_ or _Jon_?” Tyrion yelled back at him, irritated. “Either way, Jon or John, Smith is quite _meh,_ and I wasn’t talking about you but some imaginary dream-man Sansa happened to conjure in her mind.”

“I think it’s brilliant.” An impish smile giving her the appearance of a mischievous child, Sansa looked at Tyrion. “It would be wonderful having a husband called Smith. Mrs. Sansa Smith,” she gleefully announced, mirthful eyes enjoying his reaction.

“I don’t mean to sound jealous,” Tyrion pouted, sounding nothing but jealous, “but _Smith_ isn’t really that appealing when you’re already engaged to a man called Lannister.”

“Oh come on,” Bronn cheered him up, thumping him in the arm. “It’s just a game. There’s no one named Smith she knows, anyway.” He turned to Margaery. “How about you, babe? What’s your dream husband’s name?”

“Baratheon,” she promptly stated, as if it was her right. “Someday—”

“—you and Renly, it would be,” Sansa laughed. “We know you’re never going to give up on him, Marge. And you shouldn’t.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m going to be his wife one day.” Her eyes shone with ambition and she sat back, an aura of someone who wanted to conquer the world surrounding her. “And take over the whole empire.”

Brienne, still a silent spectator along with Jaime who was lost in his phone, continued to watch the show and have fun at the expense of her friends pulling each other’s legs. But her peace was short lived because trouble found its way to her when Sansa slyly dragged her into it with an innocently inquisitive, “How about you, Brienne?” 

All eyes suddenly turned to her and Brienne suddenly felt a flood of warmth gushing through her that had nothing to do with the hot wet weather outside.

“Yeah, tell us about your name fantasy,” Jaime, who seemed to have finally woken up to the presence of people in the room, chipped in with his request. Leaving the chair he’d been occupying for an hour or so, he crossed the width of the room to take a seat beside her.

“I haven’t thought about it,” she tried to ward them off, not entirely speaking the truth. “Marriage has never crossed my mind. I don’t even have a boyfriend yet.”

“Neither do I.” Margaery shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “It’ll all happen in time. It just takes the right trigger for things to fall into place.”

“Go on,” Tyrion prodded her. “Tell us—”

He was interrupted by an impatient cough. “Isn’t it obvious?” Bronn had on his know-it-all smile. “Lannister’s the only name she’d dream of because—”

“That’s ridiculous, exactly like Sansa fancying some imaginary _Smith_ ,” Brienne stopped him before he could get too far, her ears catching fire. “Nothing but a silly joke—”

“—with one important difference which makes all the difference. Jaime Lannister is anything but an imagination,” Tyrion shrewdly pointed out. “Bronn can read a face like a book. So why don’t you just accept it, Brienne, and—”

“I’ve got to go.” Deciding it was enough, and more than that, alarmed at the possibility of being called out on her feelings for her friend, Brienne got up and hurried towards the door.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilt sport, wench.” Jaime got up, too, and caught up with her. “What’s wrong with Lannister?” Jaw set, he seemed ready to argue, setting himself firmly and squarely in her path. “Is it so bad an option?”

“I didn’t say there’s anything bad in it—”

“Why did you react like that?” He came closer, one hand on his hip and the other reaching out for the doorknob, holding it so she couldn’t leave. “Is marrying me such a bad idea?”

“That was not what I meant—”

“Why this distress then?” He was breathing down her neck now, driving her nerves up the wall. “Why do you look so agitated? Does the prospect of being known as a Lannister disgust you? You sounded almost as if you’re really being forced to marry me at this very instant.“

“I was just pissed-off,” she lied, scavenging her mind for plausible excuses, “because I—”

“Yes, wench?”

“Why don’t you think about taking my name after we’re married?” she argued back, unable to find anything else to say. “Jaime Lannister Tarth—now that doesn’t sound that bad at all. Why should a woman alone change her name after marriage?”

“You know,” Bronn chimed in from inside the room. “I’d happily take the name of any woman who owns a good enough property worth marrying her for. Lannister, Tarth—how does it matter?” he philosophically advised them. “As long as you’re in love with each other, what’s in a name, dudes?”

“He’s right,” Jaime murmured in agreement. “And so are you, Brienne. Jaime Lannister Tarth has a nice ring to it.”

“Aww, look at these two,” Sansa purred from her perch. “Before even making a beginning with admitting their feelings for each other, they’ve started planning their wedding. Next they’ll be discussing how many kids they want and their names.”

“We’re NOT planning our wedding,” chorused Jaime and Brienne at the same time. 

“Nor did we mention anything about feelings,” Jaime added in a strange tone, eyes still on hers. “There’s no more I feel for her than deep friendship and a great deal of regard.”

“Absolutely. A friend is all he is,” Brienne reluctantly concurred, her heart sinking in disappointment at his bluntly categorical denial. “We were just playing along with you guys—“ she paused to gulp in some air “—adding our bit to this little game you pulled us into. Right, Jaime?”

“Of course,” he whispered, and moved closer, leaving barely a thin column of space between them. She blinked, his body almost touching hers, the seductive rumble of his voice, the scent of his aftershave and so much more that defined his sex appeal and— _him_ , sending her stomach on a trip up her chest. “A game is all it is.”

Brienne wanted to push his hand away, to get them all out of her sight—him, mainly, but arrested by his eyes, she kept standing there.

And Jaime didn’t bother to budge, either.

Before she could get the hell out of there and see herself to the safety of the other side of this door, she was in his arms. He began kissing her—deeply, passionately, like he’d been meaning to do this for ages. 

And Brienne, at last lowering her defenses, caved in, her lips and tongue, her body and _all_ of her beginning to immensely enjoy every second of this so-called game.


End file.
